Rock Bottom

by Manda Mellett

  Suppressing a shudder, doubting I’d enjoy the hospitality of any acquaintance of his, I go cold at the thought. While I’m not allowed to be close while he discusses business, apart from parishioners, sometimes evil-looking men come to the house, leering behind Hawk’s back if they catch sight of me. If it’s them he’s suggesting, and I can’t think of anyone else, the thought scares me. Hawk’s so possessive. While I’m his, no one can touch me. I don’t like to think what might happen if he’s locked away.

  “I can look after myself,” I try to say firmly. Not totally sure whether I’m trying to convince him or myself. I don’t remember who I am without him. Whether I was ever a person in my own right is an unanswerable question. First cocooned by my parents, then by him.

  Ignoring me, he removes his hand from my face, takes out the phone and leaves the bedroom. I hear his voice mumbling from the next room but am unable to make out any words. Now that he’s out of sight I allow myself to start shaking.

  I’ve anticipated this moment since that night when the police came calling, and after I unwittingly dropped him in it. All the while hoping they’d send him away for a maximum sentence, thinking I’d be free once the door slammed behind him. Now I’m more than concerned. It appears he’s making plans to control me from behind bars. I doubt he cares about my comfort in the meantime. He’s changed. He’s never pretended to love me, but now, me being the reason the police caught up with him, he’s colder than ever. I suspect he hates me.

  A clever man, he’s not marked me. That I hadn’t been able to back up his story had the police watching him closely. He’s stayed squeaky clean to demonstrate his innocence, to prove that he isn’t a violent man. His congregation had supported him throughout the investigation. I think they would continue doing so, even faced with indisputable evidence of his guilt. I’ve stood beside him each Sunday, played my part as his happy wife, all the time knowing my retribution is promised for some time in the future, when he walks free once again. Hawk can wait for his revenge. With the amount he’s paying his lawyer, that might not be long coming.

  The bedroom door opens. Hawk enters, now far more relaxed. “Well, that’s all organised.”

  “Please, Hawk. Don’t do this,” I plead, even knowing it’s useless. “I’m your wife. I’ll stay here. Where else would I go?”

  He crosses the room and fists his hands into my hair, pulling it painfully. “You know better than to question me. What I say goes. And this way, I know you’ll have protection. And will be waiting for me when I come out.”

  I didn’t even get to see him in court or hear his punishment declared with my own ears. I’d left the house before him. His friends arrived just after he’d finished putting his expensive suit on.

  He was sentenced to three years in prison. I was sentenced to thirty-six months in hell.

  Chapter 2

  Rock

  Present Day

  It’s Friday. The day Satan’s Devils meet for church. Then, what else would we do? We party. It’s the one day of the week we’re all guaranteed to come together. A member doesn’t miss church without a very good reason. Dying, or dead, would only just about do it.

  Tonight, my brothers are assembling, ready for Prez to call us in, some having been here a while, others coming in, shaking off the autumn rain that’s steadily falling. Having arrived back from town before it started, I, luckily, missed the shower and am already at the bar with a drink in my hand. Enjoying my beer, I’m standing in a companionable silence next to Beef, my oldest friend in the MC. On one hand I’m relaxed and at peace with the world. I fucking love being part of the Satan’s Devils. It’s more than a home, it’s a family—and one far better than that related by blood. I’d give my life for any man here, as they would give theirs for mine. I can ride when I want, talk when I feel the urge, be silent if that’s what I need. Fuck whenever I get the itch. Hell, if I want to fight there’ll be a brother willing to go a few rounds with me in the gym. I live for the MC. Take it away, and there’d be nothing of me left.

  As if he knows what I’m thinking, Beef raises his bottle and clinks it with mine. I take it as a toast to the life that we live. My friendship with the big, heavily-built man goes back well over a decade.

  Yeah, being in an MC is like life’s blood to me. Lately though, I’ve come to see how the Satan’s Devils are changing. I’ve kept my thoughts to myself, but I’m actually beginning to question whether it’s still the right club for me. I’m just musing over how much it’s morphing into something I don’t recognise when, as though to corroborate my thoughts, a child’s scream of laughter pierces the air and Prez’s young son, Eli, grabs my attention. I frown as my mood darkens.

  Nowadays our hardened prez smiles. He’s changed from the focused badass we respected and, I admit, viewed with more than a touch of fear. He’s become a family man. If I’m not mistaken, judging by the looks and tender touches he’s been exchanging with Sam, he’ll soon be announcing that his old lady’s expecting a second baby. There’s something in the softening of his eyes as he catches sight of her that makes me suspect she’s pregnant again. Presumably not wanting to be outdone by his VP. Wraith enlightened us last week that Sophie is pregnant with their second child.

  The influx of old ladies and kids has changed the whole atmosphere of the club. Most of what we do nowadays is clean, our money decently earned. Our treasurer is tied up with honest tax returns rather than finding ways to put dirty money through the wash. Sometimes I wonder what type of fucking MC we’re becoming. Where’s the excitement, the danger, the high that comes with walking on the edge? Well my brothers might be going soft, but there’s no way I’ll be following them. Let’s face it, I’m becoming bored.

  I still wear the one-percenter patch on my cut, but the jury’s out as to whether I truly deserve to. It’s true we care little for civilian ways, but half the time I feel a fraud, longing for the days when Drummer’s father, Bastard, was still around. Just knowing you’d survived another day was a buzz back then. Living life in the fast lane, having to watch what’s in front as well as behind you… Well, yeah, fuck, I miss that.

  “Have a good night, last night?” Beef enquires, interrupting my thoughts.

  Momentarily I struggle to find the answer he’s looking for, in the end settling for, “Win some, lose some. You know how it is.”

  He gives me a sharp look. “Be careful, Rock.”

  Nonchalantly I brush off his concern. “I know what I’m doing.”

  We don’t get a chance to say more. Having given Eli one last swing around, Drummer, at last, puts his child down and circles his hand over his head. “Church!” Before kids had come on the scene he’d have suffixed that with fuckers, assholes, or douchebags. Yeah, we all have to watch our language now. In a fucking MC.

  Beef puts his hand to my back and gives me a friendly shove. “Soon as this is over I’m grabbing a sweet butt.” He places his hand on his crotch and thrusts his hips as though I need the emphasis to get the point.

  I suppose we’re lucky to still have their services, grateful that for now Jill, Allie, Pussy, Diva and Paige are still with us, available at all times to fuck. If the prez ever decides the sweet butts are leaving it won’t be long before I’m following them out the door, and that’s a given. Responding to Beef, I readily agree, “You and me both.”

  “Paige and Diva? Together?”

  Now it’s my turn to slap him on the back and give a genuine grin. “Why not, Brother? Got to have something to look forward to after church.”

  He laughs and strides off to our meeting room. I follow more slowly, less eager than him. We’ll probably have to listen to stuff which quite honestly bores the fuck out of me. Dollar going through the finances, Slick and Bullet talking about their progress in building the new mall in town. I long for the days when we’d talk instead about killing our enemies. Or the risks involved in dealing with guns.

  I’m not an officer, nor ever likely to be, so I take my seat halfway down the table.
High-ranking posts are given for life, and as we no longer face danger on a daily basis, it’s likely Wraith, the VP, Peg, the sergeant-at-arms, Blade, the enforcer, Dollar and Heart, who are the treasurer and secretary respectively, will be in their posts until they can no longer ride. While I’m not sure I’d welcome the responsibility that comes with being an officer, that in this chapter of the Satan’s Devils I’m unlikely to get the chance is just another thing that irks me.

  Drummer bangs the gavel. “Shut the fuck up.”

  My eyes snap to Prez. His irritation at those continuing their private discussions is clear, and more than a little surprising. Over the past few months he’s been far more relaxed, normally allowing people to settle into the meeting.

  Once quiet has fallen, others similarly startled by the sharpness of his voice, Drummer wipes his hand over his face. His mouth has thinned, his steel eyes homing in as one by one he looks around the table. Only the VP looks like he already knows what’s the matter. Like the others, I sit forward, suddenly intrigued by the thought that today something’s different.

  “Unless anyone’s got anything other than a progress report, or we’re losin’ money, we’ll leave the normal business for tonight. We’ve got ourselves a situation, and that’s what we need to talk about.”

  All eyes are on him. No one speaks.

  “The VP and I had a meetin’.” He pauses, takes a breath, then lets us know. “With Javier Herrera.”

  “Fuck. It must be gettin’ on for a year now since we first tried to get a meetin’ with him.” Dollar peers over the top of his glasses. Then, realising he’s not going to be reading from his prepared spreadsheet, takes them off, holding them in one hand. “Why now?”

  Prez nods, showing the treasurer’s asked a valid question. “Things are changin’ in Tucson, and not for the good. I got a call from Herrera this mornin’. A summons you might say. The VP and I felt we couldn’t turn down the invitation.” He nods at Wraith. “We went there straight after.”

  “What the fuck does he want?”

  It’s the way the VP and Prez share a worried glance that has my heart beating faster. Drummer clears his throat. “You all know the link between the Herreras and Los Zetas.” Yeah, we do. The Tucson crime family doesn’t hide their connection to the cartel. I draw my attention back to the prez as he continues. “I’m not sure what part Los Zetas are playing in it, but Javier wants more guns going over the border. The Herreras can’t handle the extra business, so Javier has decided that he’d use us as mules.”

  “What the fuck?” Peg’s hand slams down on the table. “He thinks he can just use us?”

  “Can it, Peg.” Wraith’s growl and admonishment is unusual. It’s usually the other way around.

  It hasn’t had any effect on Peg, who ignores him. “I’ve promised my ol’ lady this club is clean. Ain’t gettin’ back into that shit again.”

  “I hear you, Brother.” Now it’s Drummer’s turn to snarl. “None of us want touch that type of business with a fuckin’ barge pole. But we may not have the chance to avoid gettin’ our hands dirty.”

  Blade spins his knife, stopping it when it points at the prez. “What the fuck do they think they’ve got over us?” he asks wearily.

  I was wondering the same thing myself. My gaze, which had been caught by Blade’s spinning knife, snaps back to the prez.

  Drum’s shaking his head. “There’s a new MC settin’ up in our fuckin’ territory. Goes by the name of the Chaos Riders.”

  “Heard of the Chaos Riders, don’t know any detail. MC based up in Phoenix. Keep to themselves. Not heard they were startin’ up a new chapter, though,” Viper contributes. “How the fuck did we not know this?”

  Wraith nods toward the empty chair at the table. “Presumably because Mouse is off communin’ with nature.”

  Yeah, he’d been gone a month, was due back soon. He’s our computer guru and stays on top of all the information the club needs. But something to do with his Native American heritage has him occasionally going on vision quests or some such shit.

  “We can take the fuckers on. Make sure they know they’re not welcome.”

  Blade’s comment makes me grin, and my hands twitch under the table. Now that sounds more like it.

  But another look exchanged between the VP and Prez tells me it’s not as easy as that, confirmed when Drummer speaks. “The Herreras are backin’ whoever carries the guns for them. They’ve spoken to the Chaos Riders and are happy they’re up to the job. Mean bunch of motherfuckers apparently.”

  “So why speak to us?” Road wonders aloud.

  “Good point, and that’s what we asked.” Drum sends another worried look Wraith’s way. “Don’t think we got more than half the story, but readin’ between the lines, seems the old pipeline the Herreras used has dried up and they need to find another. They’re givin’ us first choice. If we refuse they’ll give the business to the Chaos Riders.”

  Slick lets out a sigh. “I’m with Peg. I’ve got an ol’ lady. Don’t want to explain to her that one day I might not be comin’ home. I vote we let this new bunch of motherfuckers take the risk.”

  “I hear you.” Bullet nods. “I remember those days. Saying goodbye to Carmen, not being able to promise I’ll be seein’ her again. Don’t wanna get back into that.”

  Viper’s in agreement too. “Dead or in the penitentiary. Don’t fancy either option myself.” He raises his chin. “I vote no, too. Let someone else take the risk.” His thoughts are echoed around the table, while my eyes alight at the tantalising thought of danger. I glance at my brothers. Marvel’s looking at me and gives me a slight nod as though he’s reading what’s going through my head. At least it seems someone’s on my side.

  “I wish it was that easy. Not so sure we have a choice.” Drummer’s deep voice stops all other conversation. He waits until he’s got our full attention before delivering the punchline. “Javier’s met with the Chaos Riders, who’ve made it clear they want to come in and be top dog. If they carry guns for the Herreras, part of their payment was they’d get help takin’ us out. Seems they’ve got their eye on this compound.”

  The table erupts.

  “Then we wipe them out. Before they get their fuckin’ feet under the table in Tucson.” Peg doesn’t seem to think agreeing to kill them counts as us getting our hands dirty.

  Drummer’s looking weary as he draws his hands down over his face. “If we take out the Chaos Riders we’ll still have the Herreras on our backs about gettin’ back into the gun trade. Rock and a hard place pretty much sums it up.”

  “First order of business is to deal with this bunch of motherfuckers. Then we take on the Herreras,” Blade says firmly.

  Steely grey eyes fix on him. “I suggest we take a minute before puttin’ anything to the vote. This is fuckin’ serious, there’s no doubt about it. Many of us now have ol’ ladies and children, more to protect, and damn more to live for.”

  “If we don’t fight, what we gonna do? Hand over the fuckin’ compound and get out of Tucson?” Blood already racing, my features are arranged in a sneer, my hands fisted in anticipation of fighting. If that means taking on brothers who’ve lost the appetite to settle things the old way, by violence, then I’ll happily do it for them. Don’t want to be in an MC that rolls over and lets everyone stamp on it. I bang my fist on the table. “I say we make the decision now. To fight.”

  My fist thump was loud. Drum’s even louder, and he uses two hands to do it. “Yeah. Or we could decide to protect the ol’ ladies and children. Leave Tucson. That’s one fuckin’ option on the table.”

  “We’re the mother fuckin’ chapter.” Marvel, whose views, as I already suspected, are similar to mine, interrupts him. His eyes are wide open as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

  “Shut the fuck up and let me finish.” Drum pushes back his chair, gets to his feet and leans forward over the table, resting on his hands. “We all need time to come up with options. Don’t want to rush this and make
the wrong decision. Think fuckin’ carefully about what’s important here. We don’t have enough information about the fuckin’ Chaos Riders for a start. All I know is they’re situated somewhere south of Tucson. But how many of them are there? What’s their loyalty to their club? What’s their history? Is this threat real, or is Javier simply blowin’ smoke up our asses?”

  Everyone stares at Prez. Wraith clears his throat. “Laid a lot on you today, brothers. Prez is right. We all need to give some serious thought to it before bringin’ our ideas back to the table.”

  Retaking his seat, Drummer nods at his VP then says tiredly, “Agree we need a minute to let this sink in.” He rolls his head back and takes a breath. “We’ve seen some action over the years, but this tops it all.”

  Viper raises his hand. “Can I ask something before we split?” At Prez’s nod he continues, “Might they go after our businesses?”

  Drum points to the man who asked the question. “And that, right there, is the kind of thing I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about. If we don’t carry guns for the Herreras, Javier suggested we’ll face some kind of retaliation. So, yeah, Viper, they could. Or they could make a direct attack on the compound. Or go after the women. That’s what I need you lot thinkin’ about. All the areas where we’re vulnerable. We’ve got a bit of time before the Chaos Riders get settled. Let’s use it wisely. Once Mouse is back we’ll be able to dig for more information.”

  “When is the fucker back?” Dollar, clearly unhappy, sits back, folding his arms.

  Drum shrugs. “I’ll get in contact with him. Get him here as quick as he can. Today’s meetin’ took us on the back foot.” If anyone has been caught off guard it would appear to be the prez. This isn’t how things would have gone down in the old days. Any threat to the club would have been eliminated, and fast. No doubt about it. Well, if he can’t handle the heat, perhaps he better step down from his position at the head of the table.